Ghosts of Mars (John Carpenter, 2001)

Ice Cube and Natasha Henstridge in Ghosts of Mars

Cast: Natasha Henstridge, Ice Cube, Jason Statham, Clea DuVall, Pam Grier, Joanna Cassidy, Richard Cetrone, Rosemary Forsyth, Liam Waite, Duane Davis, Lobo Sebastian, Rodney A. Grant. Screenplay: Larry Sulkis, John Carpenter. Cinematography: Gary B. Kibbe. Production design: William A. Elliott. Film editing: Paul C. Warshilka. Music: Anthrax, John Carpenter. 

It's a space zombie Western, how good could it be? There are those who are willing to overlook the bad acting, the lame dialogue, the lack of plausibility, and the overall cheesiness of design in John Carpenter's Ghosts of Mars, and I understand them. There's a place for this kind of B-movie throwback to sci-fi tropes of the 1950s, and it's in the hearts of many cineastes, especially those who admire the chutzpah of its writer-director-composer. I don't belong to the Carpenter cult myself, but I respect their enthusiasm. Still, if you came across this movie on TV and didn't know anything about its auteur, how long would you keep watching before you looked for something better? 

Taipei Story (Edward Yang, 1985)

Hou Hsiao-hsien in Taipei Story

Cast: Tsai Chin, Hou Hsiao-hsien, Wu Nien-jen, Lin Hsiu-ling, Ko I-chen, Ke Su-yun, Wu Ping-nan, Mei Fang, Chen Shu-fang, Yang Li-yin, Lai Te-nan. Screenplay: Chu T'ien-wen, Hou Hsiao-hsien, Edward Yang. Cinematography: Yang Wei-han. Film editing: Sung Fan-chen, Wang Qi-yang. Music: Edward Yang. 

Edward Yang's Taipei Story thrusts us into the midst of the lives of two people in the city of Taipei in the mid-1980s, and then lets us sort out the personal, social, and economic tensions between them. Chin (Tsai Chin) and Lung (Hou Hsiao-hsien) grew up together in the city and at some point decided to live together, despite pressure from their parents to get married. Lung has a small fabric shop and Chin is the executive assistant to a manager of a large construction company. As the film opens, Chin is about to lose her job because the company is about to be taken over by a larger corporation, and the woman she works for has resigned. Lung has just returned from the States, where his sister is married to a man who runs an import business. The possibility of immigrating intrigues both of them, especially since Chin's future is uncertain. But their lives are complicated by their families, old and new lovers, and the city that's changing around them. It's a film with the flavor of a good novel, whose subtlety and the intricacy of its relationships suggest that it probably improves with more than one viewing. 

Kalpana (Uday Shankar, 1948)

Uday Shankar in Kalpana

Cast: Uday Shankar, Amala Shankar, Lakshmi Kanta, G.V. Subbarao, Birendri Banerji, Swaraj Mitter Gupta, Anil Kumar Chopra, Brijo Behari Banerji, Chiranjilal Shah, Devilal Samar, K. Mukerjee. Screenplay: Uday Shankar. Cinematography: K. Ranoth. Production design: A.K. Sekar. Film editing: N.K. Gopal. Music: Vishnudas Shirali.

Uday Shankar's phantasmagoric, angry, joyous, often baffling Kalpana is the ultimate dance musical, recalling everything from Busby Berkeley's pattern-making choreography to the expressionist visions of Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927). It was Shankar's only film, and it's easy to see why: It's exhaustive and exhausting. The flood of dance sequences occurs in a flashback within a frame story about Udayan, played by Shankar, trying to persuade a box office minded producer to make a film based on his life work. He's doomed to failure because the producer thinks only of money, which Udayan has learned to be an evil, though a necessary one. He has a vision of India as a cultural force, an independent leader of nations, emerging from its colonial past, though thwarted by capitalist greed. There's also a love story along with some intrigue and villainy in Kalpana, resulting in a narrative muddle, which may be why it was not a great success when it was initially released. However, its energy and imagination (which is one meaning of the Sanskrit word that gives the film its title) overcome its flaws.   
 

Two Girls on the Street (André De Toth, 1939)

Mária Tasnádi Fekete and Bella Bordy in Two Girls on the Street

Cast: Mária Tasnádi Fekete, Bella Bordy, Andor Ajtay, Piroska Vaszary, Gyula Csortos. Screenplay: André De Toth, based on a play by Tamás Emöd and Reszö Török. Cinematography: Károly Vass. Production design: Márton Vincze. Film editing: Zoltán Kerényi. Music: Szabolcs Fényes. 

In 1939, the Production Code was so rigidly enforced in Hollywood that David O. Seznick had to beg for an exemption that would allow Clark Gable to speak the word "damn" in Gone With the Wind. So for an example of what Hollywood movies might have been like if they hadn't been saddled with the Code's strictures, take a look at a film from Hungary that year, André De Toth's Two Girls on the Street. It begins with a young woman revealing, at a dinner party that celebrates an engagement, that the potential groom, who is marrying someone else, made her pregnant. Out of wedlock pregnancy would have been severely punished under the Code, but after the uproar, she moves to Budapest and gets an abortion -- one of the Code's severest taboos -- and goes to work in a night club as a violinist in an all-female orchestra. By the end of the film, she has become a celebrated concert violinist, hardly a punishment. Two Girls on the Street is a romantic melodrama whose plot feels familiar in many respects: The violinist befriends a waiflike young woman, and as they prosper they fall in love with the same man. But many of the details of the film feel like they come from another place and another time: The man they fall for was accused of sexually harassing the second woman, who also attempts suicide (another Code taboo) when she thinks she's lost him, but she's perfectly happy to wind up with him at the end of the movie. None of this is to suggest that Hungary was a better place to make movies at that time, of course. De Toth left it for Hollywood, where he became a second-tier director specializing in Westerns like The Gunfighter (1950) and films noir like Pitfall (1948) before moving into television; his best-known movie is House of Wax (1953), one of the first of the run of 3-D features in the 1950s. 

Muna Moto (Jean-Pierre Dikongué-Pipa, 1975)

Arlette Din Bell in Muna Moto

Cast: Philippe Abia, Arlette Din Bell, Samuel Baongla, Catherine Biboum, David Endene, Gisèle Dikongué-Pipa. Screenplay: Jean-Pierre Dikongué-Pipa. Cinematography: J.P. Delazay, J.L. Leon. Film editing: Andrée Davanture, Dominque Saint-Cyr, Jules Takam. Music: A.G.A.'Styl, Georges Anderson. 

Muna Moto, also known as The Child of Another, takes place in a village in Cameroon, where young Ngando (Philippe Abia) and Ndomé (Arlette Din Bell) have fallen in love. Ngando, however, can't afford the dowry Ndomé's father demands, so his rich uncle decides to take her as his fifth wife -- none of his other four wives have produced the child he wants. To forestall the uncle's plans, Ngando gets Ndomé pregnant, but the uncle is undeterred and takes her for his wife anyway and raises the child as his own. Ngando's struggle to claim his daughter and to reunite with Ndomé is the driving force of a film about the heavy hand of tradition, a universal theme in a setting unfamiliar to most of us. Director Jean-Pierre Dikongué makes the most of that setting, a place where nature and human beings tenuously co-exist. 

Chess on the Wind (Mohammad Reza Aslani, 1976)

Shohreh Aghdashloo, Fakhri Khorvash, and Aghajan Rafii in Chess of the Wind

Cast: Fakhri Khorvash, Mohama Ali Keshavarz, Shohreh Aghdashloo, Akbar Zanjanpour, Shahram Golchin, Hamid Taati, Aghajan Rafii, Annik Shefrazian. Screenplay: Mohammad Reza Aslani. Cinematography: Houshang Baharlou. Art direction: Houri Etesam. Film editing: Abbas Ganjavi. Music: Sheyda Gharachedaghi. 

Made, released, and almost immediately suppressed in a country in the throes of revolutionary change, Mohammad Reza Aslani's Chess on the Wind is one of those films that are almost more interesting for the history of their survival than for their content. Which is not to say that the film isn't impressive in itself: It's visually and aurally exceptional, in the opulence of its setting, an old mansion in Tehran, and the score using antique instruments by Sheyda Gharachedaghi. It also makes some strong points about the oppression of women, even including some queer content that was one of the reasons for its suppression. After its initial showing, the film completely disappeared for 38 years -- even its director had no prints of it -- until a complete negative was discovered by the director's son in an old shop in a suburb of Tehran. Viewers may find it a little slowly paced and sometimes enigmatic in motives and relationships, but Aslani's mastery of filmmaking is evident. It's worth watching the documentary The Majnoun and the Wind (Gita Aslani Shahrestani, 2022), made by the director's daughter and available with it on the Criterion Channel, for the film's full story.

Prisioneros de la Tierra (Mario Soffici, 1939)

Elisa Galvé and Ángel Galvaña in Prisioneros de la Tierra

Cast: Francisco Petrone, Ángel Galvaña, Elisa Galvé, Raúl De Lange, Roberto Fugazot, Homero Cárpeno. Screenplay: Ulises Petit de Murat, Dario Quiroga, based on stories by Horacio Quiroga. Cinematography: Pablo Tabernero. Production design: Ralph Pappier. Film editing: Gerardo Rinaldi. Music: Lucio Demare. 

In Hollywood, 1939 is often cited as a peak year, but the Argentine film Prisioneros de la Tierra, released the same year, holds its own in comparison with the American studio output. It's a story of abused workers in the Argentine jungles, with a grim conclusion that contrasts with the timid, feel-good resolutions of Hollywood. Granted, it too is sometimes a little more glossy than the subject warrants, with the casting of a pretty but limited actress, Elisa Galvé, in the key role of Andrea. who accompanies her alcoholic father (Raúl De Lange), a physician, on the trip to a labor camp. She falls in love with one of the workers, the dashing Estéban Podeley (Ángel Galvaña), while being pursued by the villain, Köhner (Francisco Petrone), the ruthless boss of the camp. Director Mario Soffici manages to overcome the by-the-numbers romance with a genuine feeling for the exploitation of indentured workers, aided greatly by Pablo Tabernero's use of light and shadow to create an oppressive mood in key scenes. Prisioneros de la Tierra is regarded as one of Argentina's greatest films, and at its best it justifies the acclaim.   

Behind Convent Walls (Walerian Borowczyk, 1978

Marina Pierro in Behind Convent Walls

Cast: Ligia Branice, Howard Ross, Marina Pierro, Gabriela Giacobbe, Rodolfo Dal Pra, Loredana Martinez, Mario Maranzana, Alex Partexano. Screenplay: Walerian Borowczyk, based on a book by Stendhal. Cinematography: Luciano Tovoli. Film editing: Walerian Borowczyk. Music: Sergio Montori. 

Nuns just wanna have fun, or so Walerian Borwczyk's Behind Convent Walls tells us. What forbids them from doing so is a stern Mother Superior, so when her back is turned they're up to all manner of rebellious behavior, the most lurid of which is perhaps the employment of a hand-carved dildo with an image of Jesus on one end. Ostensibly based on an essay in Stendhal's Promenades de Rome, Borowczyk's film is thought by some to rise above its soft-core prurience by virtue of some creative cinematography and its criticism of clerical celibacy and hypocrisy, but it seems to me not much more than a male fantasy about the lives of inaccessible women.  

Superman (James Gunn, 2025)

David Corenswet in Superman

Cast: David Corenswet, Rachel Brosnahan, Nicholas Hoult, Edi Cathegi, Anthony Carrigan, Nathan Fillion, Isabela Merced, Skyler Gisondo, Sara Sampaio, Alan Tudyk (voice), Bradley Cooper, Angela Sarafyan, Michael Rooker (voice), Pom Klementieff (voice), Maria Gabriela de Faría, Wendell Pierce, Neya Howell, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Zlatko Buric, Jake Tapper. Screenplay: James Gunn. Cinematography: Henry Braham. Production design: Beth Mickle. Film editing: Craig Alpert, William Hoy. Music: David Fleming, John Murphy. 

James Gunn's Superman begins in medias res, with only a minute or two of text on screen to summarize the well-known backstory of the title character. Gunn wastes no time establishing the hero's Kryptonian origins, his secret identity as Clark Kent (David Corenswet) and his relationships with Lois Lane (Rachel Brosnahan) and his enemy Lex Luthor (Nicholas Hoult). We begin simply with Superman getting the shit beat out of him, which is more than enough to get our attention. The problem with the film, however, is that Gunn takes the opportunity to dispense with the old background narrative and loads down the movie with new characters, off-beat relationships like Jimmy Olsen (Skyler Gisondo) and Eve Teschmacher (Sara Sampaio), multiple threats, and head-spinning sci-fi tropes like "pocket universes." What could have been an exhilarating new take on an old story instead becomes exhausting. Fortunately, Corenswet, Brosnahan, and Hoult are skillful enough players to rise above the frenzy and bring some order to the chaos of ideas that Gunn throws at them. 

Countdown (Robert Altman, 1967)

James Caan in Countdown

Cast: James Caan, Joanna Moore, Robert Duvall, Barbara Baxley, Charles Aidman, Steven Ihnat, Michael Murphy, Ted Knight, Stephen Coit, John Rayner, Charles Irving, Bobby Riha. Screenplay: Loring Mandel, based on a novel by Hank Searls. Cinematography: William W. Spencer. Art direction: Jack Poplin. Film editing: Gene Milford. Music: Leonard Rosenman. 

Reality intervened to make Countdown obsolete within a few months after it was released, so that the scenes of the astronaut played by James Caan plodding across the lunar surface -- instead of bouncing on it as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin would soon be seen doing -- look ridiculous. Countdown is watchable today mainly for the people involved with it who went on to better things. Caan and Robert Duvall were just a few years away from stardom thanks to The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972), and even Ted Knight, who plays a NASA press relations man, would find a better journalistic role on The Mary Tyler Moore Show in 1970. But it was almost the undoing of its director, Robert Altman, who was fired by Warner Bros. for what became one of his signature techniques: overlapping dialogue. What energy and interest Countdown generates comes from Altman's ability to keep things moving, but he's saddled with a tired story about the space race with the usual cliches, including the astronaut's anxious wife, played woodenly by Joanna Moore. 

Undercurrent (Kozaburo Yoshimura, 1956)

Fujiko Yamamoto in Undercurrent

Cast: Fujiko Yamamoto, Ken Uehara, Eitaro Ozawa, Michiko Ai, Eijiro Tono, Kazuko Ichikawa, Michiko Ono, Kimiko Tachibana, Mineko Yorozuyo, Keiko Kawasaki. Screenplay: Sumie Tanaka, Hisao Sawano. Cinematography: Kazuo Miyagawa. Art direction: Akira Naito. Film editing: Shigeo Nishida. Music: Sei Ikeno. 

Kozaburo Yoshimura's Undercurrent (aka Night River) is a romantic melodrama somewhat in the manner of Douglas Sirk, in which a strong woman is troubled by the expectations of the men in her life, including her father, her colleagues, her suitors, and her lover. Kiwa (Fujiko Yamamoto) has built a career as a textile designer when she meets a university professor, Takemura (Ken Uehara), whose wife is an invalid. Their relationship causes a mild scandal, and his wife's death awakens qualms of conscience in Kiwa, just as her career is reaching new levels of success. In an American "woman's picture" of the 1950s, which Undercurrent strongly resembles, the choice between love and career might have easily been resolved in favor of love, but the changes in the role of women in postwar Japan produce a distinctly different effect. Handsomely filmed by Kazuo Miyagawa in a muted palette in which splashes of primary color stand out vividly, Undercurrent benefits from Yamamoto's thoughtful, sensitive performance. 

Loving Couples (Mai Zetterling, 1964)

Harriet Andersson, Gio Petré, and Gunnel Lindblom in Loving Couples

Cast: Harriet Andersson, Gunnel Lindblom, Gio Petré, Anita Björk, Gunnar Björnstrand, Eva Dahlbeck, Jan Malmsjö, Lissi Alandh, Bengt Brunskog, Anja Boman, Åke Grönberg. Heinz Hopf. Screenplay: Mai Zetterling, David Hughes, based on a novel by Agnes von Krusentjerna. Cinematography: Sven Nykvist. Production design: Jan Boleslaw. Film editing: Paul Davies. Music: Roger Wallis. 

Mail Zetterling's first film as director, Loving Couples, almost collapses under the weight of exposition and subtext. It centers on three women about to give birth in a gloomy Swedish hospital in the first year of World War I. One of the women, Angela (Gio Petré), is unwed but doesn't care; another, Agda (Harriet Andersson), is married to a gay man who isn't the father, and is perfectly happy about it; the third, Adele (Gunnel Lindblom), is told that the child she's carrying, fathered by her husband, whom she doesn't love, is dead. All of them wound up in this condition on or about Midsummer's Eve on an opulent estate. The film first wanders back through their several girlhoods and then spends a good deal of time bringing us up to the day they were impregnated. The tone of the film ranges from giddy to gloomy as it explores religious bigotry, sexual freedom, societal hypocrisy, mindless militarism, and predatory behavior, among other topics. It almost flies apart at several of its narrative turns, but somehow Zetterling manages to hold it together. 

Bugsy Malone (Alan Parker, 1976)

Jodie Foster in Bugsy Malone

Cast: Scott Baio, Florence Garland, Jodie Foster, John Cassisi, Martin Lev, Paul Murphy, Sheridan Earl Russell, Albin "Humpty" Jenkins. Screenplay: Alan Parker. Cinematography: Peter Biziou, Michael Seresin. Production design: Geoffrey Kirkland. Film editing: Gerry Hambling. Music: Paul Williams.

It could almost be a scene from the Apple+ series The Studio: 

"I got an idea: a spoof of Warner Bros. gangster movies."

"Nah, I think it's been done." 

"So what if we make it a musical?"

"Hmm. Tell me more."

"We could have it performed by kids!"

"Not bad. But what about the violence? You can't have kids gunning down kids." 

"Yeah ... oh, wait! We could have the machine guns fire whipped cream!"

"Huh. You mean like those old movies with the custard pie fights?"

"Yeah. We could have a big pie fight at the end!" 

"Great! Let's greenlight it!"

It didn't happen that way, of course. It was all Alan Parker's idea -- or bad idea, depending on how you respond to Bugsy Malone. I for one find it a bit creepy, with all those prepubescent chorus girls like something out of Jeffrey Epstein's fever dreams. But there are those who love it and find it perfectly innocent in execution. And it does have Jodie Foster's performance in what would have been the Joan Blondell role: the hard-bitten chorus girl with a heart. The 13-year-old Foster gives it all the sass Blondell would have given it. The songs, by Paul Williams, are clever enough, and fortunately they're dubbed, so we don't have to listen to them sung in childish treble. Most critics, with Pauline Kael a decided exception, liked it, and it was a hit in Britain, where it was filmed. Maybe the best thing about it is that it started no trend toward kiddie spoof movies.  

Streetwise (Na Jiazuo, 2021)

Li Jiuxiao and Huang Miyi in Streetwise

Cast: Li Jiuxiao, Huang Miyi, Yu Ailei, Yao Lu, Sha Baoliang. Screenplay: Na Jiazuo. Cinematography: Li Jia Neng. Film editing: Jinlei Kong. 

Bleak in concept but often lush in execution, Na Jiazuo's debut feature, Streetwise, centers on the lives of three young people in a city in Sichuan in 2004. Dong Zi (Li Jiuxiao) works with his friend Xi Jun (Yu Ailei) as a debt collector for a man known as Mr. Four (Sha Baoliang), getting beat up as often as not by the people they try to collect money from. Dong Zi takes on this unpleasant job to pay the hospital bills for his father (Yao Lu), who is a handful of his own, constantly in trouble for gambling. Unfortunately, Dong Zi also has a bent for trouble, getting involved with Mr. Four's ex-wife, Jiu'er (Huang Miyi), who runs a tattoo parlor. Streetwise is narratively somewhat choppy, and it takes patience and attention to sort out the connections among the characters, but it repays that attention with some vivid characterization and a real feeling for the atmosphere of a dead-end city.   

Chongqing Hot Pot (Yang Qing, 2016)

Cast: Chen Kun, Bai Baihe, Qin Hao, Yu Entai. Screenplay: Yang Qing, Zhang Enming, Zhang Shimao. Cinematography: Liao Ni. Art direction: Lin Mu. Film editing: Li Nanyi. Music: Peng Fei, Zhao Yingjun. 

Liu Bo (Chen Kun) and his buddies Xu Dong (Qin Hao) and Four Eyes (Yu Entai) get caught in the middle of a bank heist in the hyperviolent comedy Chongqing Hot Pot. The guys, who run a hot pot restaurant in a former bomb shelter, discover that they share an easily penetrated wall with a bank, and the passage leads straight to the vault. Liu Bo is having difficulties with the gambling debt he owes a mobster, so the temptation to take the cash lying out on a table in the vault is intense. But that cash has coincidentally become the target of some robbers who, wearing masks, try to pull off a daylight heist. Also coincidentally, a pretty young woman (Bai Baihe) whom the guys knew in middle school works in the bank, adding a romantic subplot to the movie. Yang Qing doesn't quite tie up all the loose ends of this complicated story, and Chongqing Hot Pot is a little darker than it needs to be, but there are some amusing moments. 

A Prairie Home Companion (Robert Altman, 2006)

Garrison Keillor in A Prairie Home Companion

Cast: Woody Harrelson, L.Q. Jones, Tommy Lee Jones, Garrison Keillor, Kevin Kline, Lindsay Lohan, Virginia Madsen, John C. Reilly, Maya Rudolph, Tim Russell, Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin. Screenplay: Garrison Keillor, Ken LaZebnik. Cinematography: Edward Lachman. Production design: Dina Goldman. Film editing: Jacob Craycroft. Music: Garrison Keillor. 

Garrison Keillor used to be celebrated as a humorist in the tradition of Mark Twain and James Thurber, crafting stories out of the regional American experience with his best-selling tales of Lake Wobegon, Minn. and hosting a public radio show with a devoted following. His descent into obscurity came, like many others, with charges of inappropriate sexual behavior, but it's a mark of how famous he once was that a feature film with a starry cast was built around his radio show. A Prairie Home Companion was Robert Altman's last feature, and it demonstrates his ability to direct an ensemble of vivid characters. The thread of story concerns the final broadcast of the show, brought about by the purchase of the theater by a large Texas corporation. Somehow, a mysterious figure in a white trench coat, played by Virginia Madsen and billed in the credits as "Dangerous Woman," is inserted into the plot, as is the character of Guy Noir, the private eye played on the radio by Keillor but in the film by Kevin Kline. But the point of the movie is really to have the stars show off. Keillor's owlish presence is what holds the movie together, and the cast seems to be having fun. Whether the audience does too seems to be a matter of taste. I admit that I never appreciated Keillor's humor. It always seemed to contain a whiff of condescension to the residents of Lake Wobegon and the old-fashioned down-home music on his show, a kind of smirky folksiness, and that mars the film for me. 

Possession (Andrzej Zulawski, 1981)

Isabelle Adjani and Sam Neill in Possession

Cast: Isabelle Adjani, Sam Neill, Margit Carstensen, Heinz Bennent, Johanna Hofer, Carl Duering, Shaun Lawton, Michael Hogben, Maximilien Rüthlein. Screenplay: Andrzej Zulawski, Frederic Tuten. Cinematography: Bruno Nuytten. Art direction: Holger Gross. Film editing: Marie-Sophie Dubus, Suzanne Lang-Willar. Music: Andrzej Korzynski. 

As if the story of a woman possessed by ... something weren't enough, Andrzej Zulawski tells it with such feverish restlessness that Possession exhausts the audience well before its frenzied climax. Two men can't have a conversation without at least one of them bobbing and weaving or swiveling in a desk chair. Yet somehow this most hyperactive of horror movies makes its impact, putting its leads, Isabelle Adjani and Sam Neill, through hell. To what point other than touching a viewer's every nerve? The Berlin setting, smack up against the Wall, suggests a political subtext reflected in the apocalyptic ending, and the dialogue is riddled with references to God and Faith and Chance, but I tend to think that in this case the mannerism is the message.  
 

Millennium Actress (Satoshi Kon, Ko Matsuo, 2001)

Cast (voices): Miyoko Shoji, Mami Koyama, Fumiko Orikasa, Shozo Izuka, Shoko Tsuda, Hirotaka Suzuoki, Hisaka Kyoda, Kan Tokumaru, Tomie Kataoka, Takko Ishimori, Masamichi Sato, Masaya Onosaka, Masane Tsukayama, Koichi Yamadera. Screenplay: Satoshi Kon, Sadayuki Murai. Cinematography: Hisao Shira. Art direction: Nobutaka Ike. Film editing: Satoshi Terauchi. Music: Susumu Hirasawa. 

I enjoyed Millennium Actress more than I do most anime because I love Japanese film and its history, and the movie is full of references to it, from wartime propaganda to postwar readjustment dramas, from ghost stories to samurai films, from geisha dramas to monster movies and beyond. The central figure is a retired actress, whose story echoes that of many famous Japanese actresses, including Setsuko Hara and Hideko Takamine. When the studio where she spent her career is closed, a documentarian and a cameraman go in search of her, hoping to tell the story of the studio through her own. They get more than they expect, finding not only that her life is intertwined with the movies she made, but also that they themselves become part of the story. The complex narrative is deftly handled and the hand-drawn animation is quite beautiful. 

Towheads (Shannon Plumb, 2013)

Walker Cianfrance, Shannon Plumb, and Cody Cianfrance in Towheads 

Cast: Shannon Plumb, Derek Cianfarnce, Walker Cianfrance, Cody Cianfrance. Screenplay: Shannon Plumb. Cinematography: Brett Jutkiewicz. Production design: Katie Hickman. Film editing: Joseph Krings. Music: Dave Wilder. 

A mother, struggling to raise two boys while also trying to recapture something of who she was before motherhood, has a nervous breakdown. She begins to recover by making a home video with the boys. That's the somewhat autobiographical premise of Shannon Plumb's Towheads, which stars writer-director Plumb, her husband, Derek Cianfrance, and their two boys, Walker and Cody. The myth of motherhood embodied by June Cleaver vacuuming in pearls while nurturing Wally and the Beav is long dead. Towheads simply amounts to dancing on its grave. It's lively, amusing, sometimes incoherent, but it hits the mark more often than it misses it. 

Ms .45 (Abel Ferrara, 1981)

Zoë Lund in Ms .45

Cast: Zoē Lund, Albert Sinkys, Darlene Stuto, Helen McGara, Nike Zachmanoglou, Abel Ferrara, Peter Yellen, Editta Sherman, Vincent Gruppi, S. Edward Singer, James Albanese. Screenplay: Nicholas St. John. Cinematography: James Lemmo. Art directions: Veronika Rocket. Film editing: Christopher Andrews. Music: Joe Delia. 

The microbudgeted Ms .45 stars Zoë Lund (aka Zoë Tamerlis) as Thana, whose name suggests the Greek word for death, a mute seamstress who, after being raped twice on the same day, goes on a killing spree targeting unsavory men. But a nutshell description like that doesn't do justice to the odd mixture of exploitation flick, satire, black comedy, and social commentary that Abel Ferrara makes of it. It's the kind of movie that sticks with you even when you wish it wouldn't. 

Popeye (Robert Altman, 1980)

Paul Dooley, Shelley Duvall, and Robin Williams in Popeye

Cast: Robin Williams, Shelley Duvall, Ray Walston, Paul Dooley, Paul L. Smith, Richard Libertini, Donald Moffat, MacIntyre Dixon, Roberta Maxwell, Donovan Scott, Allan F. Nichols, Wesley Ivan Hurt, Bill Irwin. Screenplay: Jules Feiffer, based on characters created by E.C. Segar. Cinematography: Giuseppe Rotunno. Production design: Wolf Kroeger. Film editing: John W. Holmes, David A. Simmons. Music: Morton Stevens, songs by Harry Nilsson. 

The busy, noisy adaptation of the Popeye cartoon was not particularly well-received by either critics or audiences when it was released, and it was something of a commercial disaster because of cost overruns during its filming in Malta. Much of the blame fell on its director, Robert Altman, but a lot of it had to do with its flamboyantly indulgent producer, Robert Evans, and some also cited the widespread use of cocaine on the set. The casting can't be faulted: Robin Williams in the title role and Shelley Duvall as Olive Oyl couldn't be bettered. (Evans originally wanted Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin to play the roles.) But the songs by Harry Nilsson lack melodic hooks and the decision to record them live on the set was a mistake, considering that none of the actors was a real singer. Popeye has its moments, many of them contributed by the appealing Wesley Ivan Hurt, Altman's grandson, as the infant Swee'pea, but it's really something of a mess. 

Drug War (Johnnie To, 2012)

Louis Koo in Drug War

Cast: Louis Koo, Sun Honglei, Huang Yi, Wallace Chung, Gao Yunxiang, Li Guangjie, Guo Tao, Li Jing, Lo Hoi-pang, Eddie Cheung, Gordon Lam, Michelle Ye, Lam Suet. Screenplay: Wai Ka-Fai, Yau Nai-Hoi, 
Ryker Chan, Yu Xi. Cinematography: Cheng Siu-Keung. Production design: Horace Ma. Film editing: Allen Leung, David M. Richardson. Music: Xavier Jamaux. 

Even though we first see him frothing at the mouth and driving his car into a restaurant, and at the end of the film he's bargaining desperately for his life, Louis Koo makes an attractive if duplicitous figure at the center of Johnnie To's Drug War. The title says it all: Like our own war on drugs, the one in the film is a never-ending conflict full of compromises and fatal missteps. The first misstep the cops make in the movie is trusting Koo's Timmy Choi, whose meth lab has just exploded, and who desperately wants to avoid the death penalty China has imposed on fabricators of the drug. Choi promises to lead them into the heart of the country's drug world, and they go along with his plan. Initial success at gaining access to the workings of the drug business gives them hope, but Choi has only his survival in mind, and that precipitates a series of spectacular, if sometimes confusing, confrontations between cops and criminals, culminating in a spectacular shootout. Don't expect subtlety or sentiment from Drug War, and you'll be fine. 

The Goalie's Anxiety at the Penalty Kick (Wim Wenders, 1972)

Arthur Brauss in The Goalie's Anxiety at the Penalty Kick

Cast: Arthur Brauss, Kai Fischer, Erika Pluhar, Libgart Schwarz, Marie Bardischewski, Michael Toost, Bert Fortell, Edda Köchl, Mario Kranz, Ernst Meister, Rosl Dorena. Screenplay: Wim Wenders, Peter Handke, based on Handke's novel. Cinematography: Robby Müller. Production design: Burghard Schlicht, Rudolf Schneider-Manns Au. Film editing: Peter Przygodda. Music: Jürgen Knieper. 

As everyone knows, a murder involves motive, means, and opportunity. For Josef Bloch (Arthur Brauss), the opportunity was present, the means handed to him by the victim, but what of the motive? That's the part of the murder that goes unsolved in Wim Wenders's adaptation of the novel by Peter Handke, and failing that, we're left to our own speculations. Which is pretty much the point of the film: Everything we know about another person is speculative, and the speculation goes beyond the character created by Wenders and Handke into the nature of narrative itself. Why are we being told about Bloch's crime and his apparently blithe escape from punishment? When we're told a story we want it to have a meaning, a moral, a special significance. And when the storytellers leave us hanging without resolving our desires for closure we feel dissatisfied, even cheated. Perhaps even, to use an obvious word: anxious. Get it? 

Dark Habits (Pedro Almodóvar, 1983)

Julieta Serrano and Cristina Sánchez Pascual in Dark Habits

Cast: Cristina Sánchez Pascual, Julieta Serrano, Chus Lampreave, Marisa Paredes, Carmen Maura, Lina Canalejas, Mary Carillo, Berta Riaza, Manuel Zarzo, Cecilia Roth. Screenplay: Pedro Almodóvar. Cinematography: Ángel Luis Fernández. Film editing: José Salcedo.

What is it that makes nuns funny? Is it just their anachronistic appearance, their ostensible modesty and piety in a culture that is anything but modest and pious? The nuns in Pedro Almodóvar's Dark Habits are certainly modest in dress, though one of them creates outré fashion designs (with the help of the parish priest). And they're pious enough to adopt self-mortifying names like Sister Sewer Rat (Chus Lampreave), Sister Manure (Marisa Paredes), Sister Damned (Carmen Maura), and Sister Snake (Lina Canalejas). But they also shoot heroin, drop LSD, and write salacious popular fiction. They run a retreat for wayward women like Yolanda (Cristina Sánchez Pascual), who brought about the death of a friend when she sold him some poisoned heroin and is on the run from the police. It's to Almodóvar's credit that he keeps the film going once the shock humor of these characters' secret lives is delivered, although there's not much more to Dark Habits than a comic take on transgressive behavior. At best, the movie is a sketch for the later, more involving Almodóvar films to come.  

Sound of the Sea (Bigas Luna, 2001)

Jordi Mollà and Leonor Watling in Sound of the Sea

Cast: Jordi Mollà, Leonor Watling, Eduard Fernández, Neus Agolló, Pep Cortés, Ricky Colomer. Screenplay: Rafael Azcona, based on a novel by Manuel Vicent. Cinematography: José Luis Alcaine. Art direction: Pierre-Louis Thévenet. Film editing: Ernest Blasi. Music: Piano Magic. 

A stranger comes to town and wins the hand of a young woman, but when he's lost at sea and ruled dead, she marries a rich man. Then after several years the stranger returns and meets secretly with the young woman, but they're discovered and the rich man takes his revenge. There's not much more to the plot of Bigas Luna's Sound of the Sea than that, although it's dressed up with some trappings of myth: The stranger is named Ulises (Jordi Mollà), evoking the Odyssey, and he woos Martina (Leonor Watling) with quotations from the Aeneid. But the characterization is sketchy: What drives Ulises to abandon Martina and their child and fake his death? What, other than a romantic urge, causes him to return? The film posits no retribution for the revenge by the rich man (Eduard Fernández). And it all concludes with a clumsy coda that seems to signify that love (or at least sex) survives death. It's often beautiful to look at, but not much more than that. 

The Bodyguard (Sammo Hung, 2016)

Jacqueline Chan and Sammo Hung in The Bodyguard

Cast: Sammo Hung, Jacqueline Chan, Li Qinqin, Andy Lau, James Lee Guy, Tomer Oz, Zhu Yuchen, Feng Yaiyi. Screenplay: Kong Kwan. Cinematography: Ardy Lam. Production design: Pater Wong. Film editing: Kwong Chi-Leung, Lo Wai-Lun. Music: Alan Wong, Janet Yung. 

Sammo Hung's The Bodyguard is a mashup of sentimental drama, crime thriller, and martial arts film, with the sentiment dominating. Hung plays Ding, an aging man with a fading memory, who lives alone after a breakup with his daughter precipitated by his failure to look after his granddaughter, who went missing. Ding's landlady, Mrs. Park (Li Qinqin), has romantic designs on him, and he's befriended by a little neighbor girl, Cherry Li (Jacqueline Chan), whose father (Andy Lau), is mixed up with some mobsters. Although he looks like an ordinary, overweight elderly citizen, Ding is retired from the Central Security Bureau, a highly trained cadre of bodyguards for the elite of the Chinese Communist Party. Eventually, this training becomes apparent when Cherry's father steals from the mob and goes on the run, the mobsters retaliate by trying to kidnap the girl, and Ding, haunted by his failure with his granddaughter, successfully fends them off. More complications ensue before the plot culminates in a big fight scene in which Ding single-handedly takes on a flood of gangsters. The scene is fairly preposterous in comparison with those in Hung's earlier movies: It's filmed mostly in closeup with rapid editing, an obvious cheat. Eventually, of course, Ding and Cherry are reunited and she becomes a caretaker for the man who protected her. Despite the mushiness, there's a warmth and generosity in Hung's characterization of the aging man, and he has a genuine rapport with his young co-star. For martial arts movie devotees, there are cameos of other aging stars of the genre like Tsui Hark, Karl Maka, and Dean Shek, who play elderly men who kibitz on the passing scene.    

La Marge (Walerian Borowczyk, 1976)

Sylvia Kristel and Joe Dallesandro in La Marge

Cast: Sylvia Kristel, Joe Dallesandro, André Falcon, Mireille Audibert, Denis Manuel, Dominique Marcas, Norma Picadilly, Camille Larivière, Luz Laurent, Louise Chevalier, Karin Albin. Screenplay: Walerian Borowczyk, based on a novel by André Piyere de Mandriargues. Cinematography: Bernard Daillencourt. Production design: Jacques D'Ovidio. Film editing: Louisette Hautecoeur. 

Positing a connection between grief and sex, Walerian Borowczyk's La Marge tries to be more than just soft-core porn filtered through an exquisite sensibility. It fails, but honorably. What it needs is a more nuanced actor than Joe Dallesandro in the lead, greater narrative clarity, and an avoidance of symbolic clichés like the dwarf who marks the fringes of a fragmented reality. It overreaches just enough to be memorable but not to avoid ridicule. 

Nashville (Robert Altman, 1975)

Ronee Blakley in Nashville

Cast: David Arkin, Barbara Baxley, Ned Beatty, Karen Black, Ronee Blakley, Timothy Brown, Keith Carradine, Geraldine Chaplin, Robert DoQui, Shelley Duvall, Allen Garfield, Henry Gibson, Scott Glenn, Jeff Goldblum, Barbara Harris, David Hayward, Michael Murphy, Allan F. Nicholls, Dave Peel, Cristina Raines, Bert Remsen, Lily Tomlin, Gwen Welles, Keenan Wynn, Elliott Gould, Julie Christie. Screenplay: Joan Tewkesbury. Cinematography: Paul Lohmann. Film editing: Dennis M. Hill, Sidney Levin. Music: Arlene Barnett, Jonnie Barnett, Karen Black, Ronee Blakley, Gary Busey, Juan Grizzle, Allan F. Nicholls, Dave Peel, Joe Raposo. 

Nashville hated Nashville. That's because it wasn't about them, but like most major movies of the '70s, from Easy Rider (Dennis Hopper, 1969) to Apocalypse Now (Francis Ford Coppola, 1979), it was about American angst. I hadn't seen it since its release and as I did then, I found it deserved the critical hosannas for sheer audacity but was also exasperatingly inconsistent in achievement. The satire remains pungent, especially when it involves Geraldine Chaplin's clueless BBC reporter, constantly missing the point, stumbling over her own preconceptions, or desperately searching for metaphors as she tours a junkyard or a school bus lot. Some of the performances are great, especially Ronee Blakley's fragile diva, Michael Murphy's oily political advance man, Gwen Welles's clueless would-be singer, and Lily Tomlin's unappreciated wife. But although the great Barbara Harris gets her moment to shine late in the film, her character is poorly integrated, and Shelley Duvall is wasted in a role that has no point. The decision to have the actors write and perform their own songs was a mistake, especially in the case of Karen Black, who never comes across as a credible rival to Blakley's Barbara Jean. Still, the film serves its major purpose, to portray an America wrenched by post-Watergate anxiety as it prepares to celebrate its bicentennial. Nashville is bracketed by two songs, one asserting that "we must be doing something right to last 200 years," the other anxiously repeating "you may say that I ain't free, but it don't worry me." What comes in between is apt demonstration of both premises. 

To the Devil a Daughter (Peter Sykes, 1976)

Nastassja Kinski in To the Devil a Daughter

Cast: Richard Widmark, Christopher Lee, Nastassja Kinski, Honor Blackman, Denholm Elliott, Anthony Valentine, Michael Goodliffe, Eva Maria Meineke. Screenplay: Christopher Wicking, John Peacock, based on a novel by Dennis Wheatley. Cinematography: David Watkin. Art direction: Don Picking. Film editing: John Trumper. Music: Paul Glass. 

Peter Sykes's To the Devil a Daughter was disowned by both its credited screenwriter, Christopher Wicking, and the author of the book on which it was based, Dennis Wheatley. It's easy to see why: It's muddled and uninvolving, a routine horror thriller that borrows its best ideas from The Exorcist (William Friedkin, 1973) and Rosemary's Baby (Roman Polanski, 1968), throws in a nude scene for Nastassja Kinski, who was only 14 at the time, and wastes the talents of Richard Widmark, Christopher Lee, and Denholm Elliott. 
 

Winter Kills (William Richert, 1979)

Jeff Bridges in Winter Kills

Cast: Jeff Bridges, John Huston, Anthony Perkins, Eli Wallach, Sterling Hayden, Dorothy Malone, Tomas Milian, Belinda Bauer, Ralph Meeker, Toshiro Mifune, Richard Boone, David Spielberg, Joe Spinell, Elizabeth Taylor. Screenplay: William Richert, based on a novel by Richard Condon. Cinematography: Vilmos Zsigmond. Production design: Robert F. Boyle. Film editing: David Bretherton. Music: Maurice Jarre. 

Every conspiracy thriller has to be judged by the standard set by John Frankenheimer's The Manchurian Candidate (1962), and that includes Jonathan Demme's ill-advised 2004 remake. What makes William Richert's Winter Kills such an obvious target for comparison is that it's based on a novel by Richard Condon, who also wrote the novel on which Frankenheimer's film was based. The difference between Frankenheimer's film and Richert's is that although both deal with a political assassination, The Manchurian Candidate appeared a year before the killing of John F. Kennedy and Winter Kills a decade and a half later. Frankenheimer's movie felt somehow so prophetic that it actually disappeared from circulation for years. Richert's is obviously modeled on the conspiracy and cover-up theories that have always surrounded the Kennedy assassination. Winter Kills is stuffed with stars, some of them, like the brief cameos by Sterling Hayden, Toshiro Mifune, and an unbilled Elizabeth Taylor, amounting to stunt casting. Its chief virtue is a reliably solid and attractive performance by Jeff Bridges as the half-brother of an assassinated president, who stumbles across a clue that seems to implicate their father, a billionaire played with sinister charm by John Huston. Even though everyone that Bridges's character comes in contact with seems to get killed, there's no real urgency driving the film, and the result is a puzzle with no payoff. 

The Beaver (Jodie Foster, 2011)

Mel Gibson in The Beaver

Cast: Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster, Anton Yelchin, Jennifer Lawrence, Riley Thomas Stewart, Cherry Jones. Screenplay: Kyle Killen. Cinematography: Hagen Bogdanski. Production design: Mark Friedberg. Film editing: Lynzee Klingman. Music: Marcelo Zarvos. 

The Beaver was a notorious box office flop, and no wonder. It starts as a serious drama about a man in the throes of a deep depression, morphs into a comic fantasy with a teen romance subplot, and then becomes a horror movie before a bloody denouement leads to a tentative resolution. How do you market a movie like that, especially when its star is getting the wrong kind of press? You can't blame it all on Mel Gibson, who demonstrates throughout the movie that he's a skilled and resourceful actor when his demons of bigotry and violence aren't being released by alcohol. It's tempting to blame Jodie Foster for taking the helm of the movie, though she manages to give it some coherence. The producers must have seen some promise in Kyle Killen's screenplay, so we might question their wisdom and taste. But mark it down to systemic failure, a reminder that making movies is a collaborative project and that collective judgment is fraught with peril. 

The Dreamers (Bernardo Bertolucci, 2003)

Michael Pitt, Eva Green, and Louis Garrel in The Dreamers

Cast: Michael Pitt, Eva Green, Louis Garrel, Anna Chancellor, Robin Renucci. Screenplay: Gilbert Adair, based on his novel. Cinematography: Fabio Cianchetti. Production design: Jean Rabasse. Film editing: Jacopo Quadri. 

Matthew (Michael Pitt), a young American in Paris in 1968, meets Isabelle (Eva Green) and her twin brother, Théo (Louis Garrel), at the protest over the firing of Henri Langlois as head of the Cinémathèque Française, and is invited home to dinner with them. There he meets their parents, a prominent French poet (Robin Renucci) and his English wife (Anna Chancellor), and is invited to stay over for the night. When he gets up to go to the bathroom, he is surprised to see, through a partly opened door, Isabelle and Théo sharing a bed, naked. The next day, the parents depart on a month's vacation, leaving a check for the twins to cover their expenses. Matthew accepts an invitation from them to move into a spare room. And so begins a month in which Matthew's view of life is altered. Matthew, Isabelle, and Théo form a ménage familiar to them from the movies they have watched, like Jean-Luc Godard's Bande à Part (1964), whose familiar run through the Louvre they re-create. The sex and nudity in The Dreamers earned it an NC-17 rating, but when I learned that in the novel on which the film is based Matthew has sex not only with Isabelle but also with Théo, I wondered if Bertolucci regarded homosexuality as more transgressive than incest. Though The Dreamers intends to shock, it pales in comparison to the work of filmmakers like Michael Haneke and Catherine Breillat. A handsome and well-acted film, it feels inert, and an insertion of a scene from Robert Bresson's unsparing Mouchette (1967) in the film reveals how conventional and glossy it really is. 

The Tit and the Moon (Bigas Luna, 1994)

Biel Duran in The Tit and the Moon

Cast: Biel Duran, Mathilda May, Gérard Darmon, Miguel Poveda, Abel Folk, Laura Mañá, Genis Sánchez, Xavier Massé, Victoria Lepori, Xus Estruch, Jane Harvey. Screenplay: Cuca Canals, Bigas Luna. Cinematography: José Luis Alcaine. Production design: Aimé Deudé. Film editing: Carmen Frías. Music: Nicola Piovani. 

As the title suggests, The Tit and the Moon is one of Bigas Luna's ribald skewerings of the Spanish male ego. But what sets it apart from Jamón, Jamón (1992) and Golden Balls (1993), its predecessors in Luna's "Iberian Trilogy," and what makes it somehow more shocking, is that the protagonist is a 9-year-old boy. Tete (Biel Duran) develops a breast fixation when his mother (Laura Mañá) gives birth to a baby brother. Watching her nurse the infant, Tete begins to long for a breast he can call his own, and wishes on the moon for it. So when Estrellita (Mathilda May), a beautiful, well-endowed Frenchwoman, arrives in his small Catalonian town, he thinks his wish has been fulfilled. But he has rivals for her attention, not only her husband, Maurice (Gérard Darmon), but also a local, Miguel (Miguel Poveda), whose flamenco love songs attract her attention. The rest is a fantasia, narrated from Tete's not always reliable point of view, involving human pyramids, farting, a waterbed, a pet frog, motorcycles, a bodybuilder called Stallone, and much else. It's not like any other coming of age movie, and not all of it works, but it holds your attention if only because you keep wondering what will happen next.  

EO (Jerzy Skolimowski, 2022)

Sandra Drzymalska in EO

Cast: Sandra Drzymalska, Tomasz Organek, Mateus Kosciukiewicz, Lorenzo Zurzolo, Isabelle Huppert, Lolita Chammah, Agata Sasinowska, Anna Rokita, Michal Przybyslawski, Gloria Iradukunda, Piotr Szaja. Screenplay: Ewa Piaskowska, Jerzy Skolimowski. Cinematography: Michal Dymek. Production design: Roberta Amodio, Miroslaw Koncewicz. Film editing: Agnieszka Glinska. Music: Pawel Mikyetin. 

"I don't know whether I'm stealing you or saving you," a character says to the titular donkey of Jerzy Skolimowski's EO, which pretty much sums up the moral conundrum of a film in which no good deed goes unpunished. The animal rights activists who succeed in shutting down the circus in which Eo has performed only leave the donkey adrift in a world strange to him. Kasandra (Sandra Drzymalska) thinks she's being kind to Eo when she seeks him out and visits him after the circus closes, but she only awakens his desire to follow her, which he does at his peril. The vet who heals him instead of euthanizing him after he's beaten nearly to death only postpones the inevitable. And Vito (Lorenzo Zurzolo), who is the one who either steals or saves him, leads the animal further astray in his odyssey. The film could be interpreted as an indictment of cruelty to animals, but the humans in it are perhaps even crueler to one another. As a fable, EO is tangled in ambiguities and tinged with nihilism, unlike the film to which it's an homage, Robert Bresson's Au Hasard Balthazar (1966), in which the donkey is a suffering saint. No one is redeemed by Eo's fate, so it's better to see it as an expression of Skolimowski's vision, tenuous and complex and unresolved as most visions are, full of images that haunt and tantalize. 

Anesthesia (Tim Blake Nelson, 2015)

Sam Waterston in Anesthesia

Cast: Sam Waterston, Corey Stoll, Tim Blake Nelson, Kristen Stewart, Gretchen Mol, Glenn Close, K. Todd Freeman, Michael Kenneth Williams,  Hannah Marks, Ben Konigsberg, Natasha Gregson Wagner, Jessica Hecnt, Scott Cohen, Gloria Reuben, Yul Vazquez, Richard Thomas, Annie Parisse, Lucas Hedges. Screenplay: Tim Blake Nelson. Cinematography: Christina Alexandra Voros. Production design: Tina Goldman. Film editing: Mako Kamitsuna. Music: Jeff Danna. 

As an actor, Sam Waterston radiates sincerity. So does Tim Blake Nelson's Anesthesia, which proves to be both its strength and its downfall. Waterston plays a Columbia philosophy professor who, in the evening after he has just announced his retirement to an adoring audience of students, is brutally attacked on the streets of New York City. Most of the film is a flashback to the events leading up to the attack, in which we see vignettes of the lives of his family and some others whose relationship to him and the assault gradually become apparent. It's a familiar technique for plotting and for giving depth to the central character, but there's a whiff of pretentiousness about it in Anesthesia. Waterston's character likes to quote Montaigne and Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, and the quotes are designed to resonate with the events of the film. Some characters, like Kristen Stewart's self-harming grad student, barely fit into the narrative except to underscore the film's musings about the meaning of existence. Anesthesia is an honorable attempt at a cinema of ideas, but it tends to suggest that phrase is an oxymoron.

Pedicab Driver (Sammo Hung, 1989)

Sammo Hung in Pedicab Driver

Cast: Sammo Hung, Max Mok Siu-chung, Lau Kar-leung, Nina Li Chi, Sun Yueh, Fennie Yuen Kit-Ying, Liu Chia-Liang, Billy Lau, Lung Chan, Hoi Mang, Cory Yuen, Manfred Wong. Screenplay: Barry Wong, Yuen Kai-Chi, Sammo Hung, Kin Lo. Cinematography: Leung Chi-Ming. Art direction: Chin Yiu-Hang. Film editing: Peter Cheung, Keung Chuen-Tak. Music: David Lautrec. 

Martial arts movies are like musicals: You don't watch them expecting plausibility. Just as people don't break into song and dance in the street in real life, they don't enter a room and start kicking and punching and somersaulting through the air. And as I learned from watching Sammo Hung's Pedicab Driver, which many admirers of martial arts films consider a masterpiece, you also don't watch them expecting consistency of tone. At one point the film is full of raunchy humor and fart jokes, at the next it's a romance, and then there's a duel using fluorescent light tubes as light sabers, and then it's a message movie about the desperation that drives women into prostitution, then there's a wedding followed by bloody deaths, followed by fights in which the villain gets what's coming to him, and finally a happy ending in which everyone seems to have forgotten how much pain they've been through. Which is all to say that I'm not the ideal audience for a movie like Pedicab Driver, just as many people are the wrong ones to watch, say, Singin' in the Rain (Gene Kelly, Stanley Donen, 1952), but I managed to accommodate myself to it. 

Fifi Martingale (Jacques Rozier, 2001)

Jean Lefebvre and Lydia Feld in Fifi Martingale

Cast: Jean Lefebvre, Lydia Feld, Mike Marshall, Yves Afonso, François Chattot, Jacques Petitjean, Luis Rego, Roger Trapp, Jacques François, Alexandra Stewart. Screenplay: Lydia Feld, Jacques Rozier. Cinematography: Jean Clavé, Stéphane Patti, Matthieu Poirot-Delpech, Jacques Rozier, Ramón F. Suárez, Bernard Tiphine. Production design: Nicole Karen, Jacques Rozier. Film editing: Laure Meynet, Jeanne Moutard, Jacques Rozier, Anne-Cécile Vergnaud. Music: Reinhardt Wagner. 

A martingale, as I learned from Jacques Rozier's film Fifi Martingale (and from looking it up afterward), is a betting strategy that involves doubling your wager each time, whether you win or lose. Rosier's movie wins some but loses more. It was never theatrically released, and it's easy to see why: It's a mess. That it's often an amusing mess doesn't excuse the fact that it looks like a bunch of talented people got together and decided to make a movie poking fun at theatrical types without much more in mind than that. The premise is that the author of a hit play has decided to rewrite the play in mid-run, and when one of his performers is injured, he signs as a replacement an actor who has a photographic memory. But on the night that the play is to resume its run, the actor suddenly loses his ability to remember his lines. That in itself would be enough to sustain a satirical farce, which is what Fifi Martingale seems to want to be. But Rozier and co-writer (and star) Lydia Feld have so many other things that they want to try out that the film keeps rambling off of the central premise, and does so for two hours -- Rozier was never one who believed that less is more. If you're someone who wants a movie to make sense, avoid this one. But if you're less demanding and possess a good deal of patience there are enough funny moments to justify your time. 

Golden Balls (Bigas Luna, 1993)

Maribel Verdú, Maria de Medeiros, and Javier Bardem in Golden Balls

Cast: Javier Bardem, Maria de Medeiros, Maribel Verdú, Elisa Tovati, Raquel Bianca, Alessandro Gassmann, Benicio Del Toro, Francesco Maria Dominedò, Albert Vidal, Ángel de Andrés López. Screenplay: Cuca Canals, Bigas Luna. Cinematography: José Luis Alcaine. Production design: Irene Montcada. Film editing: Carmen Frias. Music: Nicola Piovani. 

Maybe it's just my Trump Derangement Syndrome asserting itself, but I can't help noticing the resemblance of Benito González (Javier Bardem), Bigas Luna's protagonist in Golden Balls, to our current president. There's the swaggering machismo, the obsession with glitz ("Two Rolexes!"), and the dodgily financed real estate development designed for self-aggrandizement. The chief difference is that Benito gets to suffer at the end, which hasn't yet come for his real-life counterpart, and when it does I doubt that we'll see him sobbing as he rips a bidet from its moorings at Mar-a-Lago. Luna's film is a satiric tragicomedy about the rise and fall of Benito, whom Bardem plays with great flair, just enough to see why people might fall for his bullshit, and with just enough vulnerability that we can feel a slight twinge of sympathy when he falls victim to his own connivings. If it's not an entirely satisfactory movie, it's because Luna has too many ideas that he wants to jam into the film, including some touches of surrealism borrowed from Salvador Dalí that astonish more than they illuminate. But as a modern moral fable, one with continuing relevance, it succeeds. 

The Mouth Agape (Maurice Pialat, 1974)

Nathalie Baye, Monique Mélinand, and Philippe Léotard in The Mouth Agape

Cast: Nathalie Baye, Philippe Léotard, Hubert Deschamps, Monique Mélinand. Screenplay: Maurice Pialat. Cinematography: Néstor Almendros. Production design: Michel de Broin. Film editing: Bernard Dubois, Arlette Langmann. 

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's familiar list of the five stages of grief -- Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance -- omits one that's featured in Maurice Pialat's The Mouth Agape: Impatience. Granted, it's antecedent to the others, and is usually present mainly when the person takes a long time dying. But it's a very real stage in Pialat's film, voiced primarily by the dying woman's husband and then only with guilt and embarrassment, made more poignant by the fact that he has cheated on her throughout their life together. There's nothing particularly admirable about the family of the dying woman (Monique Mélinand). Her husband (Hubert Deschamps), who continually has a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, feels up a pretty young girl who comes in to buy a T-shirt from his shop while his wife is dying in a nearby room. Their son (Philippe Léotard) is also unfaithful to his wife (Nathalie Baye), who goes off on vacation while he's watching after his mother. And yet, although The Mouth Agape takes a cold-hearted look at dying, treating it almost as an imposition on the living, the film somehow becomes more moving than the ones that sentimentalize the vigil at the bedside. The grief that the husband feels after her death is genuine, made more apparent by the way Pialat ends the film: first with a long tracking shot from the car carrying the son and daughter-in-law to Paris, where their lives will continue. We see the door that the father has just closed and then the streets of the village and finally the road to the city, receding as if the couple is escaping the trauma of death. And then we cut to an interior shot of the father turning out the light, enveloping him in darkness and loneliness.